"You're the worst kind of obsession, Jolene. My obsession. One I can't seem to find a cure for and if I'm being honest, I'm not sure I ever want to find one."
***
My initial plan is to get far away from here. I emphasize on the word 'initial', becau...
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JOLENE'S POV
It's the next morning and we're all gathered around the table to eat breakfast together outside on the terrace, except for Natasha who's still sleeping in our room. She has always slept like a log. When I made my way back to our room last night, sore and exhausted, she was peacefully snoring in her sleep. Even an earthquake wouldn't have woken her up.
I'm too ashamed to mutter a word, and I know I can count on Buchanan to remind me exactly what we did. He watches me from across the table, a proudful smirk on his lips as he sucks the pit of his plum clean. I look away before my cheeks suspiciously turn crimson red, but I think it's too late.
I'm not hungry and all I can swallow is a cup of coffee. So I wrap my hands around my mug and hide my face behind it.
"What's that smile for, pal'?" Steve asks Buchanan. My eyes shoot to him and I'm nervously waiting for his answer.
"Nothing," Buchanan shrugs. "I slept well, that's all."
"Of course you did," Steve answers as he throws a handful of cereal from his own bowl at him. "You picked the best mattress out of the four, you fucking genius."
Buchanan's shoulders shake with a silent laughter. Then he casually chews a flake of cereal that had landed in the corner of his mouth and winks at me.
Does he have a death wish? Not that Steve would kill him or anything if he knew but, I don't want to hurt him. If he knew what's between Buchanan and me... I don't think I could forgive myself.
"Seriously, man. It felt like sleeping on the floor would have been better," Sam says as he stretches his whole body on his chair, crackling all of his joints in the process.
I bring my mug to my lips and take a tentative sip.
"And it's without counting the two lovebirds..." Steve teases in Tony's direction.
I spit my coffee. Fortunately no one notices what I just did except Buchanan who glances my way with raised eyebrows. I don't know what's happening myself, I want to tell him.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Tony replies and Sam bursts out laughing.
"C'mon, don't play dumb! We heard you and Nat downstairs anyway. It was about damn time, man."
Sam starts grunting and thrusting his hips forward while Steve crosses his eyes and moans with a high-pitched voice, both doing an exaggerating and very humiliating impression of Buchanan and me from last night.
My eyes go wide and I look at Buchanan but he's not looking at me anymore. They definitely heard us from the kitchen downstairs but they think it's Natasha and Tony? What the hell? Well, I'm grateful for the misunderstanding, but what the hell?
"I didn't know I was sleepfucking," Tony huffs and brings his early glass of whiskey to his mouth. It's barely ten in the morning and he has his sunglasses on, a glass of whiskey in hand that he drains in one go and quickly refills it from the almost empty bottle of Jack Daniels in front of him. I'm worried about him, I'm not gonna lie. "I'll talk to my therapist about it and we'll add that to my long list of disorders."
